Absent Shadow
by May Eve
Summary: The outline of his broad figure stood, shoulders bowed and mourning black suit rumpled, staring unseeing upon a mound of grave dirt and a marble marker. Sequel to Absent Light.


_Alright, before we get this show on the road, I have something to say. *deep breath* I LOVE YOU BATMAN PEOPLE! I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU! YOU ARE AMAZING! BEST. REVIEWERS. EVER. _ I LOVE YOU! Hem. Thank you, to all the wonderful fans who reviewed the first part of this little twoshot and my drabbles. In case the above message was at all unclear – I LOVE YOU._

_PS. Sorry for the awful delay. DX_

**Absent Shadow**

The day was dreary and cold, fittingly so to the mind of Bruce Wayne, were he in any condition to notice. The outline of his broad figure stood, shoulders bowed and mourning black suit rumpled, staring unseeing upon a mound of grave dirt and a marble marker.

It was so absurd, he couldn't help but think in his more lucid moments – absurd that one man could make so much difference or that such a man could die in such an inglorious manner should he die at all. The epitaph was simple and painfully heartfelt, having taken him several nights worth of shredded paper and snapped pens to craft:

_Alfred Pennyworth  
><em>_a butler, a father, a friend.  
><em>_You were a light in the endless dark._

In a moment of hysteria, he'd considered some levity, _I'll try not to burn down the house again_, but was disgusted with himself in the next breath. That was the sort of disrespectful stunt the playboy billionaire would pull – not Bruce, not Alfred's Master Bruce, certainly not Batman.

A familiar figure appearing at his left broke Bruce from his spiraling thoughts and he took in a shaky breath, "Commissioner Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Was that his voice? Strained and horribly exhausted – it was.

"It seemed only appropriate that I pay my respects." Gordon didn't sound much better, now that he thought of it. In fact, the rings around the man's eyes were nearly as dark as his own.

Gordon bowed his head in the ensuing silence, not praying because Gotham broke a man of such faith early, but perhaps, hoping that there was something better waiting to welcome Alfred Pennyworth. He'd seen a lot of good people die in this city, but this one he could admit was the worst, no matter that the Police Commissioner shouldn't be so biased.

Standing here, beside a broken Bruce Wayne and staring at this good man's grave, he could admit that he wasn't the Police Commissioner. He was just a beat cop wrapping a blanket around a newly-made orphan and swearing to change the world. Shaking his head, Gordon cleared his throat, feeling he had to break the silence, had to at least attempt to comfort this man like he couldn't comfort that little boy. He hadn't kept his promise if this man had lost another father.

"Wayne." The young man – and yes, at this moment Gordon could see just how young Bruce Wayne was – slanted his eyes to Gordon for only a moment before focusing back on the grave. Gordon sighed soundlessly.

"I'm sorry, Wayne. This…should never have happened." And Gordon hadn't realized till that moment how close this had come to breaking him like it seemed to have broken Wayne.

Wayne turned to him at last and Gordon found he couldn't meet his eyes, instead following in Wayne's footsteps and focusing on the flowers set around the headstone.

"This is not your fault, Gordon." Gordon's eyes shot back to Wayne so fast he thought he should be dizzy. He couldn't believe Bruce Wayne, of all people, was absolving him. The young man must have seen the disbelief in Gordon's eyes because he let loose a humorless laugh, "It's not, Gordon. No one could have known some stupid kid would feel like a robbery at that minute, or that he wouldn't know the slightest thing about gun safety. Believe me, if there was any blame to be had, I would be taking it all." The last was very quiet, and the next even quieter, a mantra Wayne seemed to be clinging to for his last vestiges of sanity.

"We are only human."

Gordon stared a moment longer before turning to the grave again, quietly, clearly, "…we are."

.:.:.

They stood together for another half hour, lost in their own thoughts, Gordon politely ignoring the tears that dripped slowly down Wayne's cheeks. At last, a limousine pulled up at the cemetery gate and Wayne shook himself out of his reverie. He looked back once, nodded to Gordon, and started down the steps to the long streak of black as Gordon made his way to where his own car was parked.

Bruce tucked his head down to shelter from the harsh winds that had blown into Gotham, set his foot on the last step and stilled. He couldn't leave things like this. Not when Alfred was dead. His last friend, his father in every way that mattered, the only one who always believed in him. Turning on his heel, his voice was hoarse as he called after the retreating figure, "Gordon!"

Gordon turned and watched, confused, as Wayne jogged back to him, reaching out a hand to grip his shoulder, the young man's voice nearly a growl it was so low and so harshly abused, as he squeezed Gordon's shoulder, and a "Thank you," escaped him. He met the older man's eyes for only a moment before he swiftly took his leave, turning on his heel and climbing into the shadowed limousine.

As he was driven off into the waiting fog around Gotham's outskirts, Gordon stood frozen at the phantom sensations coursing through him, recalling with some shock and horror and perhaps a dawning understanding of the most obvious farce ever created under his very nose, a lightless night half a year past, when a shadowed figure had squeezed his shoulder and growled his name and called him partner.

.:.:.:.:.


End file.
